


И не забудь про меня

by MonocerosRex



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A little humour, Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fuck ItTM, Gen, Heals and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Just comfort, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, No Conflict, POV Multiple, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Touch-Starved, all the usual suspects - Freeform, idk what else, more or less, mostly less, no plot just feels, probably a lot, this is really fluff though promise, tony is incapable of being unfunny in my fics idk, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 02:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16254671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonocerosRex/pseuds/MonocerosRex
Summary: “Do you know who I am?”“Captain Steven Rogers, codename: Captain America.”“How is it he sounds a thousand times more robotic than any of the actual robots around here?” Tony muttered, manfully enduring the elbow Hill was applying to his ribs.“Okay. Can you tell me who you are?”“The asset. Codename: The Winter Soldier.”Steve waited for a moment, but shockingly Deep Freeze didn’t immediately jump into his arms proclaiming himself to be ‘James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend!’. God those were some pointy elbows.“Okay. Can you tell me everyth—uh, that is, what is the earliest thing you can remember right now?”Robocop actually paused for a second at that one. Something flickered in his eyes, the first hint of emotion they’d seen from him.Figures it would be fear.





	И не забудь про меня

**Author's Note:**

> wxznciwxn I had the first half of this written and I needed a project so I worked real hard to finished it off. I'm happy I pushed through so I could post, there are some moments I'm lowkey really proud of :) 
> 
> Title is from The Prayer of François Villon (Молитва Франсуа Вийона) by Bulat Okudzhava, although I listened to [the excellent cover by Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6Lr8ggJWi4). It translates to "And don't forget about me." Was it pretentious of me to write it in the original Russian? Probably. Do I give a fuck so far past my bedtime? No.  
> Do y'all think I should make the title english? It might be more impactful. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Hope you have fun!

**TONY**

 

Through the two-way glass Tony watched Steve’s hand tremble around the piece of paper. It was the only outward sign of distress he could detect; his face was calm and determined, his posture tall and sure. If he hadn’t bourne witness to the messy breakdown he’d had only an hour previous Tony would never have guessed at the storm raging inside the Captain. Never too emotional to fulfil a mission objective, he guessed, not bothering to hide his sour expression.

“Do you know where you are, Soldier?” Steve began, voice carefully, frighteningly calm.

“Avengers Tower,” the Winter Soldier responded in a monotone from his place on the couch Steve had dragged into the cell. He was still dressed in his dirty field gear, calmly informing them he was ‘fully functional’ when asked about any injuries. Someone had indicated he could sit down and he’d immediately done it, eyes submissively lowered in a way that made Tony’s skin crawl.

“And you know who I am?”

“Captain Steven Rogers, codename: Captain America.”

“How is it he sounds a thousand times more robotic than any of the actual robots around here?” Tony muttered, manfully enduring the elbow Hill was applying to his ribs.

“Okay. Can you tell me who you are?”

“The asset. Codename: The Winter Soldier.”

Steve waited for a moment, but shockingly Deep Freeze didn’t immediately jump into his arms proclaiming himself to be ‘James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Steve Rogers’ best friend!’. God those were some pointy elbows.

“Okay. Can you tell me everyth—uh, that is, what is the earliest thing you can remember right now?”

Robocop actually paused for a second at that one. Something flickered in his eyes, the first hint of emotion they’d seen from him.

Figures it would be fear.

“Unclear. Memories confusing.” The barest hint of a facial twitch. A carefully still posture. Tony knew a flinch when he saw one.

The Winter Soldier was terrified.

Steve, on the other hand, was having a hard time suppressing his reaction to this. He managed not to grin like an idiot but there was no mistaking the way his eyes got about 500% bluer in an instant.

“Okay, that’s okay. What’s your earliest clear memory?”

“0948, given mission: eliminate Steve Rogers, codename: Captain America.”

“Nothing before that? That’s clear, I mean?”

The Soldier shook his head, slowly.

“Okay. Can you tell me why you saved me? Why you’re here?”

Another twitch. Tony watched a drop of sweat get caught in the corner of the Soldier’s mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Okay, okay. That’s fine. You’re—” The paper was a little more crumpled than before. “You’re not going to be punished. It seems like you’re cooperating here. Is that right?”

“Yes. I am ready to comply.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. Barely a blink, really.

“Okay. Here are your orders for the moment.” The Soldier grew somehow even more focused on Steve. “It is _imperative_ that you do not do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.” Now it was the Soldier’s turn to blink. “All other orders are secondary to this. If following an order makes you feel bad in any way, do not follow it. If someone does something that makes you feel bad, tell them to stop and they will. If you could explain why it was bad and how it was you felt exactly, that would be helpful, but only as long as doing so does not interfere with your primary directive.” Steve took a breath. The Soldier was holding himself so carefully still there could be no doubt he was trying not to shake.

“Do you understand your orders, Soldier?” Steve asked.

“No.” The Soldier said, eyes going blank as he retreated somewhere inside his head.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Steve allowed himself a tiny swallow. “What is it you don’t understand?”

There was a pause, the Soldier visibly grasping for words. After a moment the eyelid twitch was back. “I—uncomfortable—I don’t understand.” At this point he was so far away he was barely in the room anymore. Tony took a deep swallow of the scotch in his hand—did he pour this? He didn’t remember pouring this.

“That’s okay,” Steve rushed to reassure him, obviously well aware of the signs. “You’re not going to be punished, it was a confusing order.” The Soldier doesn’t react to the words. _The only thing these guys understand is pain_ echoed in Tony’s memory, and he deliberately didn’t look for the source. “What—what is something that—” Steve was obviously struggling how to phrase it. “Okay. You know sometimes there is physical input that isn’t pain.”

“Yes,” the Soldier replied once he realised a response was expected. Tony didn’t know how he’d worked that out—he still hadn’t made eye contact once.

“Some of those sensations are pleasant, and some are neutral, and some are unpleasant.”

“Yes.” The time the response was immediate. If Tony hadn’t known better, he would have thought that was an actual _thought_ behind those dead eyes.

Steve seemed to sense it too, but after the Soldier remained silent Steve realised his mistake. “You’re allowed to speak at any time, and say anything. There is no expected response or any forbidden words or answers or requests. You don’t have to wait to be asked a question or spoken to.”

The Soldier blinked. That seemed to be the extent of his emotional range outside of ‘fear’, but that still put him ahead of Natasha in Tony’s opinion. His finger twitched minutely.

“Cold.” The Soldier’s voice was exactly the same clear monotone as before, but the tightness around his eyes suggested it was a great effort for him to make himself speak.

Tony expected Steve to jump in with praise for his boy performing the trick so well, but when he glanced away from said stray puppy he found the largest crack in the Captain America mask yet. His face was even paler than his usual Aryan pallor but the spark in his eyes almost looked like—rage. It was covered as quickly as it came and Tony was absurdly grateful the Soldier's gaze remained lowered. It wouldn’t do for him to think it was caused by him speaking unprompted. Not that Tony cared.

“Yes. Cold. Thank you for telling me. Cold is uncomfortable. One thing that is, anyway.”

The Soldier nodded once.

Steve blew out a breath and visibly pulled himself together. “And you know how there are types of emotional input, such as anger and fear, with varying intensities, that are also unpleasant, like the cold.”

The Soldier’s eyes cleared and he grew somehow even tenser. “Yes,” he responded immediately, the servos in his arm whirring fractionally louder.

“Okay, that’s good.” Steve swallowed. “Do you understand your orders?”

“Yes.” Tony didn’t believe it for a second.

Steve took a second to steady himself. “Okay. Other important orders. _As long as it doesn’t violate your first order,_ you must tell us if there is anything you need or want. Food, water, medical care, medication for pain management, warm water or clean clothes, books or music or anything like that. At any time, you may ask anyone for anything you want. If you like something, as long as it doesn’t violate your first order, you should tell us, and why and what it made you feel. To the best of your ability. JARVIS, the AI who lives in the building, can organise anything you might need or want, almost.”

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. Feel free to ask me any time—simply say ‘JARVIS’ out loud before the request,” came JARVIS’ infinitely more human voice from all around them. Frosty didn’t appear to react.

“Sergeant Barnes is you, Soldier. Before you were with HYDRA, your name was Bucky Barnes. As long as you don’t mind, we’ll be referring to you that way from now on. It’s your name. Unless you want a different name, in which case, that’s what we’ll use.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the Soldier said automatically, and then. Stopped. _Waiting to be punished_ , something whispered to Tony. The scotch burned. Steve did his best impression of a golden labrador.

“Yes! That’s your—that’s the name you were born with. Can we call you that?”

The Soldier didn’t look like he understood the question. “You can.”

“Okay. Okay, James. Do you—do you understand your orders?”

Pause. “Yes.” _Sure, buddy._

Something in Steve’s posture finally relaxed. “Okay. Okay. That’s real good. Do you want something to drink?”

“I do not require maintenance.”

“Sure. But would you _like_ something?” Steve didn’t look surprised when the Soldier didn’t answer, but Tony could still see his fucking raincloud. “Okay, wait he—um, do whatever you want for a sec.”

The Soldier waited there.

Steve disappeared out of the room for a moment and reappeared with three glasses. One of water, and two of what looked like apple juice.

“Here. You don’t have to drink either, or you can drink both, there’s no correct answer or punishment.”

The Soldier watched Steve drink his juice bracingly, as if it were alcohol, for almost a full five minutes before his hand shot out and grasped the glass of water. He threw it back greedily, obviously extremely thirsty, and Tony could see Steve struggle not to react. The glass was replaced carefully on the table.

“Rehydrating was—better. Than not.” The Soldier’s posture was taught as a bowstring, the disjointed words obviously a report of some kind. Fulfilling his order to divulge when he liked something, but without the language to explain it.

“That’s good to know. Thank you for telling me. Would you like more water? Or would you like to try the juice? Either is fine. Or you can say no.” The juice in Steve’s cup was sloshing from the force of his grip.

The Soldier was actually trembling now. “More water,” he said, his robot voice strained as he fought conflicting conditioning.

“Okay.” Steve replied, eyes closed. It took him a while to get back from the kitchen.

Once he returned the Soldier stared at the glass of water like it was full of snake venom.

“You don’t have to drink it, but you’re welcome to.”

The Soldier closed his eyes.

He thought it was a trap, Tony realised with a sudden, sick clarity. It wasn’t just conditioning—he thought it was the fucking Kobayashi Maru. Follow protocol, get punished for disobeying orders. Obey orders, get punished for being fucking Oliver Twist. He didn’t see Steve’s orders as a kindness, but a test. When he reached out to take the glass, his hand was inhumanly steady.

He drained this one just as fast, and did not speak after. Steve simply watched him, something unnamable in his eyes. For what seemed like an age—seriously, Tony could have built the kid like three arms in the time they sat there—they were still. And then the Soldier just—broke, Tony supposed. He picked up the juice and took a sip.

He immediately replaced the glass. He wore an expression like—like he’d give his other arm just to be able to close his eyes.

“That was.” It came out almost in a rush, if robots could rush. Tony didn’t think the word _nice_ had ever landed so heavily, and it hadn’t even been voiced. Jesus Christ. Tony would bet his considerable fortune this was the most emotionally charged situation revolving around _apple juice_ ever to have occured _._ “It was.”

“You liked it?” Steve prompted quietly.

The Soldier paused for a long second. Tony’s fingers ached around his glass. He gave a tight nod.

Something in Steve went liquid. For a moment he actually looked ninety five years old. “I’m real glad you liked it, Buck. James. It’s—it’s apple juice. You can have as much as you want, just get it out of the fridge any time.”

The Soldier didn’t respond.

* * *

 

**THE ASSET**

 

The asset didn’t know what to do. Unexpected circumstances and variables were common on missions, but with the Handlers there was always a clear protocol. This was something that gave the asset comfort. As long as expectations were conformed to, punishment would be minimal. Predictable. But this Handler’s expectations were completely unknown. He had told the asset when he was first brought to the Tower that they _did things differently here._ He gave the asset a mission, orders, but they were not. A comfort.

“Would you like to get cleaned up a bit?” The Handler asked, and the asset was grateful, so grateful, to have a directive. He followed the Handler up a flight of stairs, through a sparsely furnished apartment and into a large bathroom.

“Um, I put some clothes here earlier,” the Handler said, indicating a small folded pile resting on the closed toilet lid. “And there’s a towel behind you. Take as long as you need, and feel free to use anything you like in there.” The asset did not understand. The Handler seemed to notice his confusion. “Didn’t you want to take a shower?” He asked, brow wrinkled as he gestured to a large glass cubicle behind the asset. The asset turned to look.

A minute recalibration in the Arm indicated his adrenaline levels had risen again. Terror was something the asset understood well.

His orders echoed in his brain. “That makes me uncomfortable.” The Handlers’ eyes widened. The asset held still, waiting for the order to go inside. He wouldn’t enter before. Prolonging the fear was not a habit he had ever learned to break.

“Why is that, James?” The Handler asked, voice indicating emotional stress.

“Cold. Glass.” The asset reported. The Handler had said it was imperative that they know how to break him.

“Oh, shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, James, I didn’t think—” _Sorry._ Something knocked against the asset’s skull.

The Handler was pushing past the asset, bending over the large basin set into the floor and turning on the tap. The asset braced himself. “Here, this—if you want, you can leave, or wash yourself with a cloth, but maybe a bath might be okay? It’s warm. It’s really warm and nice, I like taking baths a lot—”

A bath. The asset had never taken a bath.

“Would you like to leave?” The asset didn’t have an answer. “Would you like to wash with a cloth or take a bath or leave?” The basin was beginning to fill with water. Steam rose gently from the surface, but the Handler’s hand was resting in it, so it couldn’t be hot. Unless the Handler didn’t have feeling in that hand. Or was impervious to heat.

“James?” He’d waited too long to respond. The Handler was trying to get his attention. Using the name that he’d spoken earlier.

“It’s warm?” The asset heard himself ask. He couldn’t ascertain the functional advantage of a warm bath over a cold one.

The Handler had a large smile. “Yeah! Do you want to stick your hand in? It’s okay.” The Handler was using many verbal reassurances. The asset must be being too slow or visibly afraid. Pain would follow. The asset quickly stepped in close enough to submerge his flesh hand.

The water was. Warm.

“What do you think? Would you like to wash up in there, or just with a cloth standing up?”

The Handler had not made him get in the shower. The asset did not understand this test, but it was clear the Handler wanted the asset to get in the bath. The asset began to remove his clothes.

“You need any help there?” The Handler asked, eyes on the dried mud gunking the buckles. The asset immediately dropped his hands.

“No, no, I—can you remove that by yourself?” A clear question. The asset relaxed a fraction.

“Yes.”

“Okay, go ahead then. Do you want me to leave?” The asset didn’t have an answer. “James. Look at me, buddy.” The asset’s heart rate reached a critical level. “Look me in the eye, it’s okay. You won’t be punished.” Handlers who played games were worse. Worse than. Worse. The asset looked up.

The Handler’s eyes were blue. The asset could not remember looking directly at a person’s eyes before. It made him feel strange. There. Strangely there.  

“This makes me uncomfortable,” the asset spoke. His teeth hurt. His breathing was compromised. The tile was cold under his feet. “Please—stop.”

The Handler dropped his eyes. “Sorry. Of course. You can look at me if you ever want to, but I won’t make you.” The Handler. Dropped his. “I just—this next part is important, and I wanted to be sure you knew.” Important. Everything the Handler said was important. “You’ll be getting naked before you get into the tub, and I wanted you to know that you never have to be naked in front of someone if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t mind looking at your chest to see how your injuries are, but if you don’t want to— _if it would make you uncomfortable,_ I’ll leave right now.” The Handler still hadn’t looked up. “Would it?”

“No,” the asset responded promptly. The tile was cold.

“Okay. Get your gear off, then,” he said. The asset complied.

The Handler made a sound through his teeth when he caught sight of the asset’s abdomen, the dark slice of bruising crossing from his hip to his ribs where the beam had fallen. Several other bruises littered his frame, but none impaired his functionality.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” The Handler sounded upset.

“Yes.”

“In the future please report all pain unless it would make you uncomfortable to tell us,” the Handler said in his Other Voice. This Handler seemed to require response to be assured the asset understood and would comply. The asset nodded once. It was almost a lie.

“Okay, get in, get clean. This one's for your hair if you don’t want to use the soap in it. Take as much time as you want.” The asset stepped into the bath.

It felt.

“This.” The asset must always report clearly and concisely.

“Do you like it?” The Handler sounded excited. The asset did not want to answer. The asset did not want this to be taken away.

“It is…” The asset must always. “...apple juice...”

The Handler’s smile was. Large.

“I’m glad, I’m so—okay. Okay, you just stay in there as long as you want. I’m going to leave to find you some pain relief and I’ll bring it back here, but I won’t make you get out. Wash up, soak, do whatever feels the most apple juice, okay?” Apple juice wasn’t an adjective. Warm.

The Handler left. The asset’s face was wet.

Carefully the asset cleaned every inch of his skin with the bar of soap in the dish. The bottle for hair the Handler had pointed to smelled like herbs. In order to wash it out the asset had to submerge his scalp and run his fingers through his hair. It felt. The asset had to breathe through his mouth after his nose became congested.

He did not want to forget.

The Handler arrived with a piece of hard sugar on a stick. “This will help your bruises hurt less. It might make you a little drowsy, but it won’t make you sleep unless you want to.” The asset took it. It tasted of apple juice.

  


* * *

 

**STEVE**

 

Bucky—James—didn’t come out for more than an hour and Steve had to resist the urge to go check up on him like he was a five year old and not a deadly assassin. He spent that time staring at his hands and trying very carefully not the think about anything too hard. It was all right there for him to think about. His joy. His fear. His sadness, hope, _rage_ . But if he sat still enough—if he just _didn’t_ —he could maintain his composure. And right now James needed him to.

Some supersoldier instinct was all that made Steve look up when James entered the room. He was completely silent.

Seeing him there in sweatpants with his hair slowly soaking his t-shirt and his eyes carefully lowered it was hard to see the man who had beaten him almost to death in the helicarrier, the Soviet ghost who frightened the fearless Natasha.

It was harder still to see his old friend.

“Are you hungry at all?” Steve asked carefully. James paused as if to check with himself.

“Yes.”

“There’re sandwiches in the fridge all made up. You’re welcome to any of the food in the apartment whenever you want it.” James acknowledged this with a nod and headed to the kitchen.

“How’s your pain? Did the lollipop help?”

“Pain levels lowered,” he reported in a tight monotone.

“Good, that’s great.” At least Steve could offer him that much.

James ate standing at the counter. After his first bite he dutifully reported that the sandwiches were _acceptable_ _sustenance_ , but with a certain inflection that made Steve think he mean _tasty._

After Bucky had inhaled almost 1000 calories of ham and cheese Steve asked if he was tired. He responded that he was functional, but this time there was a hint of hesitation, as if he understood that that wasn’t what Steve was really asking. It was progress, enough to make Steve smile even though James didn’t react to the bedroom much. Steve made sure he understood he wasn’t required to stay in there if he didn’t want and that he was welcome to contact JARVIS or himself for anything and left him alone.

Steve didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he shut himself in his own room. Sitting on the edge of the bed he was overcome with the sudden urge to see his mother. _What would you do if you could see him, Ma? Our Bucky?_ Frown severely while feeding him until he puked, probably. Steve chuckled at the image of Ma Rogers sternly shoveling milkorno into the Winter Soldier, and startled when it came out as a sob. _God, Bucky._ Wiping away his tears was a sisyphean task, but Steve kept at it, shoulders trembling silently, for a long time.

 

* * *

  


**THE ASSET**

 

The asset lay on the bed. His clothes were very soft. They did not provide any more protection than being naked, but they were. Very soft. The bed was also very soft. The asset could barely feel the pressure of his own weight on his bruises. The room was warm. He could feel the drug making his limbs heavy, like coming out of cryo.

The asset was expected to sleep. Without cryo. The asset understood sleep—sleep left his targets vulnerable. Lack of sleep made his targets sloppy and predictable. The asset did not sleep. The asset went into cryo. The asset was given drugs to keep him alert on missions. The asset did not lie in beds.

He closed his eyes. Falling asleep felt like dying.

 

***

 

The Handler was in the kitchen when the asset entered almost fifteen hours later.  

“Good morning,” he said, pouring something hot into a mug. “Would you like some coffee?” The asset didn’t know. He shook his head. Nonverbal responses felt less like lying. “Okay. Juice then?” The asset knew a trick when he heard one, but. He had his orders.

“Yes.” A glass of juice was set in front of him. The asset did not understand this Handler. The juice was. Good.

“Your hair looks completely ridiculous.” The Handler spoke around a piece of toast. The asset didn’t understand the statement, but one hand reached up to touch without his permission. It was soft. And tangled. The Handler’s voice became animated. “Can I brush it for you later?”

The asset didn’t know. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Toast?” The Handler pushed the plate towards the asset. That must have been the correct answer. The toast had something dark and sweet on it. Sweeter than juice. The Handler did not take it away.

“Do you like it? It’s fig preserves or something, I think.” The asset nodded. Report. He. Liked it. “I’m glad.” The Handler made him five more pieces.

After breakfast the Handler disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a comb, sitting down on the couch and spreading his knees. “Sit here?” He ask-ordered, indicating the floor in front of him. The asset complied. “You can get up any time, or tell me to stop, okay?” The Handler ordered firmly.

Tell him to stop. Nod.

“Okay then.” The Handler sounded pleased. He touched the asset’s hair. The asset braced himself.

The was a tug. The Handler repositioned his hands. There was no pain. “Let me know if I pull too hard.” The asset daren’t nod.

The Handler’s fingers moved higher. They brushed the asset’s neck gently, and the asset’s own hair caressed his skin. When had the asset closed his eyes?

“You have goosebumps,” the Handler said quietly. His fingers moved higher, nails and comb scraping the asset’s scalp lightly. The asset held very still. He did not want this to stop. He didn’t. _Want._ “You okay, buddy?” The asset held very still.

“Yes.”

“You want me to keep going?”

The asset wanted to cry. “Yes.”

The Handler kept going. At some point he dropped the comb, tunneling his fingers into the asset’s hair and scratching his scalp softly. It felt. Like ice. But.

“That feel good?”

“Yes.” The word tasted like salt. The asset did not want this to be taken away. The asset did not need food or shelter or rest. The asset did not. The asset needed.

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark is on his way up.”

“Okay, thank you, JARVIS. You want me to let you up now, James? I can do it again later, just ask me.” Ask him. The asset rose. His legs were not fully functional.

Anthony Edward Stark, Codename: Iron Man entered.

“How’s it going, Cap?”

“Fine, Tony. What did you need?”

“Oh nothing, nothing, I just came to check on our resident super assassin. How’s it going, Robocop? Feeling any irrepressible urges to murder people?” He was addressing the asset.

“No.”

“You sure? Don’t think I could spend the night with Captain Boring over here without wanting to kill him. No? Well, good for you. Hey, look, I brought you something.” Iron Man was holding out a large paper cup. “It’s a dirty chai latte. Rogers learned how to make coffee in the trenches out of mud and gun oil and still manages to make it taste that way despite the two thousand dollar espresso machine I bought him. Hmm? Go on, take it.” He wiggled the cup. The asset took it.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want, James.”

“Of course he does. How else will he learn the pleasures of the flesh?” The asset complied. The drink was hot and sweet and creamy. It reminded him of. Winter. “You sure I can’t convince you to try a caramel macchiato, Cap?”

“I’m sure. You like it, James?”

He liked it. “Yes.”

“Well at least one of you popsicles has good taste. You gonna let me take a look at that arm, Red?”

The asset swallowed his coffee. It tasted like dirt.

“Tony! You don’t have to, James, Tony’s just incapable of delayed gratification—”

“That is accurate, Cap, but I’ve never seen it as a problem—”

“You’ve read his damn file, Tony, you don’t think maybe he’d be a little _reluctant_ to have people messing with his arm—”

“Yeah, I _have_ read his file, and unlike you I actually understood it—”

“I don’t need an engineering degree to grasp _non-consensual body modification without anesthesia—_ ”

“What are you, his mother? I asked him, not you. I thought you were all about maintaining his autonomy, Grandpa.”

The Handler’s eye twitched. He sighed, slumping tiredly as the fight went out of him. “I am, but—I haven’t seen—Of course I am.” He turned towards the asset. “James. You can say no to Tony. You understand that, right?”

“Yes.”

“‘Course he can. So Jaime Lannister, you get that there could be trackers or even explosives in your arm, right? You got enough brains left for that?”

The asset looked at the Arm. “Yes.”

“...sure you do. Well, I can take care of all that, and make the damn thing about a thousand times more comfortable while I’m at it. You gonna let me?”

Was the asset going to let him? He took a drink of his coffee. It was warm. The asset did not want to be tracked. This asset did not want to return to the Chair. The paper cup was shaking. “Yes.”

“Good choice, Rick Allen. Let’s go.” Iron Man turned and marched out the apartment. The Handler huffed a breath and followed Iron Man, beckoning the asset along. The asset complied.

 

* * *

 

**STEVE**

 

Steve hadn’t realised how much calmer James had been that morning until it all fell away. He was following behind them without hesitation, face blank, but as they got into the elevator Steve could see the sweat beading on his brow.

“It’s not going to hurt,” he heard himself say abruptly. “You won’t be restrained.”

James looked at his chin, the closest he ever got to eye contact. His expression didn’t change. Steve wondered if he didn’t believe him.

“It might hurt,” Tony interjected. “I can’t be sure, honestly. But once I have scans I should be able to avoid most of the nerve endings, so I doubt it’ll be a problem. I can knock you out if you want though.”

“Anaesthetise you, he means,” Steve quickly corrected. James’ brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “If we have to do something painful, we’ll anaesthetise you,” Steve repeated firmly. Something flashed through James’ gaze. Steve thought it might be awe. He closed his eyes against the images of operating tables with chains.

For once Tony didn’t quip. It seemed vivisection was where he drew the line.

The doors of the elevator opened and what little humanity James had wrested back evaporated. The lab honestly didn’t look medical to Steve, more like a garage than a hospital, but he supposed James had more than enough reason to fear experimental machinery.

“Come on then, Red October,” Tony ordered, striding towards an X on the floor. “Stand over here and stick your arm out, okay?” James immediately complied. Steve had to consciously relax his clenched fists. “JARVIS? Scan the man, would you?”

“Yes, sir.” A bar of blue light fell across James, carefully sweeping over him from several angles. A few feet away Tony was watching a hologram of the arm slowly gain dimensions. It only took a few minutes, but by the end the collar of James’ shirt was dark with sweat.

“Okay okay, that’ll do, Terminator. You go sit down,” Tony waved his hand without looking up, “somewhere. Or you can watch, whatever. Oh, that’s interesting.”

“What?” Steve watched James march to a chair in the corner of the room, half hidden behind a—was that a stair car?—and sit preternaturally still.

“Look, look,” Tony said, waving him over to the hologram. “See this? It’s a reservoir—for cyanide or something. Can’t take it off without releasing it. I guess it was a deterrent in case their attack dog went off-leash, one that kept the arm intact.”

“Will it be a problem?” Steve asked, chest tightening as he imagined Bucky foaming at the mouth.

“For me? With a lab full of equipment? No. Pretty clear they didn’t want the Manchurian Candidate over there sharing their technology, though.”

“Are there trackers?”

“Oh yeah. Like, ten. Eight. Whatever. Half of them are remote activated though, and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s switched them on. Guess they’re all still too shaken up from your little SHIELD coup I wasn’t invited to. Maybe they think he’s dead, I don’t know. I imagine they’d go looking for the body eventually though, try to get this beauty back.”

“Can you—”

“Yeah, yeah, no sweat. Hey, you got any feeling in this thing, Furiosa?”

James remained motionless. “No sensation,” he reported tonelessly.

“Proprioception?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know how hard you’re hitting? You crush a lot of cups by accident?”

James’ attention went inward. “Unknown,” he said, after the barest hesitation. “I can calculate…” Steve watched him wrestle for a satisfactory answer, jaw working, clearly expecting punishment for his incoherency.

But Tony had already moved on. “Right, right. Well, I’ve got to get this bomb out—”

“Bomb?” Steve said sharply, rounding on Tony.

“What? Did I not mention the bomb? I told you there were probably explosives—look it’s not a big deal, I can fix it easy. What I was _going_ to say was it seems like they’ve hooked it up to your spine already, which means I could give you feeling in it. Take out the hack reinforcement they’ve welded in there and lighten the whole mechanism, get you some sensation—I think I could—JARVIS, could you pull up the schematics for the—the thing, you know, two months ago with Helen—”

“Yes sir, they’re already displayed to your right.”

Tony was obviously in another world right now. Blowing out a breath Steve tried not to think about the bomb strapped to his friend as he made his way over past the stair car.

“Did you catch all of that?” He asked, wishing he could do something to take James’ fear away.

“No,” he said blankly.

“Tony’s going to disable the trackers, failsafe poison, and explosives in your arm today. Sometime in the future he’s going to make a better arm—one that has sensation. It’s up to you if you let him switch them out, but you wouldn’t be awake for the procedure.” James nodded to indicate he had heard, but his eyes were still blank with fear. Steve didn’t know what to do. “Tony? How quickly can we get this over with?”

“What? Oh, now, basically, here, just—” Pushing the hologram to the side Tony grabbed a handful of tools off the bench and headed over.

“Let Tony know if you need a break,” Steve said as James settled into the sniper-stillness that Steve was so horribly familiar with.

“Give it here,” Tony ordered, kneeling right on the ground next to James. James held out his arm, allowing Tony to manipulate it into position resting on his knee. “Let me know if this hurts. It shouldn’t, but this is a prototype so who knows.” Grabbing a small screwdriver off his lap Tony popped a plate off James’ bicep and stuck it inside.

James… went somewhere else. Steve suspected if addressed he would still respond, but. It was pretty clear he was no longer home.

Maybe that was the best Steve could hope for.

“JARVIS,” Steve said, voice raw.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Please let me know when Tony’s finished, or if James needs me.”

“Of course.”

Tony didn’t seem to notice his egress, and Steve was greatful.

 

***

 

In the absence of alcohol, Steve had elected to hit things until he bled. It was more than hour later when JARVIS brought him back to himself. Knuckles shredded and face wet Steve took a moment to get his hitching breaths under control. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Captain. Mr. Stark is simply finished with Sergeant Barnes’ arm.”

“Okay. Thank—thank you, JARVIS. You can tell them I’m on my way.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Torn between wishing for a shower and wanting to sprint back to James’ side Steve carefully washed his face and rinsed out his knuckles, hoping he didn’t look as much of a wreck as he felt. Hurrying back to the lab Steve found James sitting in the same chair, looking at his arm, Tony feverishly taking notes at the table.

“Can I take him, Tony?”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here, I’m busy, I’m so busy—” Tony waved them away without looking up.

“Okay James, let’s go back to the apartment.” James complied. His eyes were no longer blank, but Steve didn’t think it was a kindness. He was shaking.

Steve led him into the elevator, giving in to the urge to rest his forehead against the cool mirrored interior. “You hated that,” he said.

James’ eyelashes fluttered a flinch.

“Why did you do it?”

He didn’t answer. They reached their floor and Steve sighed, dragging himself to his rooms feeling every bit as old as he was. Settling into the couch Steve closed his eyes and rested his head against the back.

“I do not want to return to HYDRA.” James’ voice filled in the dark space behind his eyelids.

Steve looked up on a surprised inhale. That was the first time he’d expressed a desire of his own accord. “You let Tony operate because you don’t want to go back?”

James jerked a nod.

The rage Steve had been suppressing since he saw Bucky’s file bubbled back up, choking him. “I’ll never let them take you back, James,” he said, voice shaking and raw. He wished he could shield James from this violence of feeling. “I would die before letting them have you. I’d burn the whole world down to keep you away from them.” His hands were clenched so hard he could feel his nails tearing his palm “Fuck, James, I—I’d kill you myself if it was the only way to keep you out of their hands.” Steve felt as if the whole world was trembling with him.

James looked shocked. For a bare millisecond he met Steve’s gaze, something in his posture more human than he’d ever seen it. There was something in his eyes Steve thought might be joy.

The urge to crush him in his arms was overwhelming. “Can I touch your hair again?” He asked instead, voice breaking.

“Yes.” James confirmed instantly, though his muscles tensed with a familiar wariness. Steve spread his knees. James sat.

When Steve raised his hands to stroke his friend’s dark hair, they were bloody.

 

* * *

 

**THE ASSET**

 

The asset woke up. It was entirely different to thawing, but he was shaking just the same.

Captain Steven Rogers was sitting on the couch when the asset entered, sketching something in a large book. He glanced up, and when his eyes fell on the asset, he smiled.

“Good morning! You slept for a long time again. Bruce thinks it’s because your brain is healing.”

The asset stared at him. The smile slowly slid off his face.

“Is everything okay? Do you need something?”

The asset did not have needs. But everything was not okay. He wanted—he wanted to _know._ His heart rate was above acceptable levels. The asset nodded.

“Okay, shoot. Uh, that is, ask away.”

The asset tried. He knew Captain Steven Rogers did not have a Chair. He knew Captain Steven Rogers _wanted_ him to remember things.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, slow your breathing down for me James, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Whatever it is, you won’t be punished, okay? Breathe.” An order. The asset forced his diaphragm to adopt a slower rhythm. The Arm whirred.

He _wanted._ To know.

“Did—” the asset choked. The asset must always speak clearly.

“Yeah?” Captain Steven Rogers asked softly, eyes filled with worry.

“Did you used to be smaller?” The asset forced out, swallowing reflexively around the need to vomit.

Captain Steven Rogers’ face lit up. Breathe.

“Yes! Yes, I—did you remember that?”

The asset didn’t want to be kept awake. “Dreamed.”

“You dreamed it?” The asset jerked a tight nod. “I guess Bruce was right. That’s great!” Great. “Well it’s real, buddy. You remembered that. We were friends, and I was small.” Captain Steven Rogers was helping him remember. “Is there anything else you remember?”

Report. “I knew you.” _To the end of the line to the end of—_

“Yes. We knew each other.” Captain Steven Rogers hadn’t stopped smiling.

“You knew me?”

“Better’n anyone. Before HYDRA had you, we were best friends.”

The Arm twitched.

“James?” Captain Steven Rogers had stopped smiling.

“Before HYDRA?” Sweat stuck the asset’s hair to his face and neck.

“Yeah.” Captain Steven Rogers reached out like he wanted to touch the asset.

“I don’t remember.” The asset didn’t have a ‘before’. There was only HYDRA.

But now he was living an After.

“That’s okay, I—yeah. They made you forget.” They made the asset forget a lot of things. “But I remember. I can tell you, if you want. I’d like to tell you.” HYDRA made him forget his Before. Captain Steven Rogers knew him. “James?”

“Tell me,” James said.

 

***

 

Captain Steven Rogers talked for a long time. James had no difficulty memorising the things he said, but it didn’t stir any new memories. Bucky Barnes was an abstract concept to him, but the fact that he existed—that _James_ existed Before—was a gift. Captain Steven Rogers talked until his voice grew hoarse, and then seemed to suddenly realise something.

“Aw hell, James, I’m keeping you from your breakfast. You must be starved, come on. Shouldna let me go on so long.”

James followed him into the kitchen and accepted a glass of juice. Captain Steven Rogers continued telling James about Bucky Barnes without regard for his shredded throat, and James felt a twinge of something unfamiliar.

Before long James was presented with a plate of bread dipped in egg mixture and fried, with some kind of syrup poured over it. James’ body was hungry.

“Go on,” Captain Steven Rogers encouraged, and James took a bite.

He chewed it carefully, face blank and eyes open. Autumnal sweetness flowed over his tongue, the bread creamy and crunchy by turns. He swallowed. Time’s up. “I like it,” he reported. Something tiny and bright wormed its way into his chest between the desperation and the grief. James knew that something. It made everything worse, and yet always grew back, like a malignant weed.

“I’m glad to hear it. I think I’ve pretty much perfected it at this point,” Captain Steven Rogers said with a smile, and didn’t take it away. The something in James’ chest grew roots. Soon it would be ripped out, and that would hurt more than anything. He wished Captain Steven Rogers had just taken it away, saved him the—James blinked, losing the thread of the emotion. He ate his breakfast. It was good. Captain Steven Rogers gave him seconds.

Sometime after that JARVIS announced the arrival of Natalia Alianovna Romanova, codename: Black Widow. She deliberately gave him her back. A pointless test.

“So, how have you been, James?” She asked him critically once she had greeted Captain Steven Rogers. James couldn’t answer. She nodded like it was one. “What things do you like?”

Perhaps she would be his new handler. “Baths. Toast. Beds. Apple juice. Bread dipped in egg with syrup. Captain Steven Rogers touching my hair.”

Captain Steven Rogers looked startled. “You can call me Steve, James,” he said after a beat. James nodded once.

Black Widow looked satisfied with his answer. “Have you gotten enough of them?” James didn’t understand. “In your orders. If there’s something you want, you must ask for it.” She studied him for a moment while he fought to remain still. His orders. Had he not complied? The servos in the Arm worked in overdrive and James sunk deeper into the stillness. He thought of the egg bread. They couldn’t make him forget that.

“James, calm down. You followed your orders, you’re fine, we’re not gonna punish you.” Steve was angry. James didn’t move.

“Let me clarify,” Black Widow said. “When you have trouble _not_ thinking about something you like, that means you want it. Your orders are to ask for those things when it happens.” A part of James relaxed. At least he knew what he had done wrong, so he could comply next time. If there was a next time. Black Widow was speaking again. James forced himself to be present. “It gets easier,” she was saying sympathetically. “You relearn how to want faster than you’d expect.” Learning how to want. Thinking about things he liked. Orders.

“Thank you Nat, but I think maybe you should go, for now anyway,” Steve was saying. “I appreciate you coming though. I know—I know you’re the only person with any idea what he’s going through.”

“Don’t worry about it Steve, I’ll get you to make it up to me.” Black Widow put her arms around Steve for a moment. “I’ll come back later. Goodbye, James,” she said to him. James was so startled he almost looked at her. And then she was gone.

Steve watched him carefully. “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?” He asked him. “You’re not going to be punished.” Steve said that a lot. Steve knew him Before. The roots of the something had anchored themselves firmly in his ribs. “Is there… is there anything you want?” Perhaps this was the punishment.

Something he had trouble not thinking about. Want. “Hair.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. James froze. “I’d be glad to, but I was wondering… Why do you like it, James?”

Why. He liked it.

“It feels good.” James reported. His heart was beating very fast.

“Is it… Do you like me touching you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Okay, I—James. Put out your right hand.” James complied. Steve reached out and paused. “James. I’m going to touch it. Tell me to stop.” An order.

Steve closed the gap between their fingers. His hand was warm. “Stop.” James recited, and Steve pulled away. Punishment.

“Good. Again.”  

“Stop.”

“Good. That’s perfect James.” James didn’t understand, but he had complied. This was a comfort. “Okay, I’m going to touch your hand one more time. If you say stop, I will. If not, I won’t. Do you understand?” James didn’t understand.

“Yes.”

Steve’s warm fingers brushed his, their palms resting together very lightly. James could feel his eyes on him, feel the sun from the window.

“Breathe,” Steve instructed. His fingers curled around his hand more firmly. James could feel his heartbeat in his palm. Steve wasn’t stopping. Their skin was wet where it touched. Steve let his hand drop, drawing James’ down with it until they hung between them where they stood. He didn’t stop. Steve knew him. James had a Before. James wanted. James wanted.

“Whatever you want, James.” James raised his eyes.

Steve’s eyes were very blue. He didn’t stop touching James’ hand. James was there, and Steve was holding his hand. James wondered what colour his own eyes were, and had to hold in a gasp. Steve smiled with his whole body.

“Hi,” he breathed. His blue eyes shimmered with tears.

“Hi,” James replied, just like a person.

 

***

 

James didn’t tell Steve to let go. Steve pulled them to the couch and put on a briefing about ocean life. James tried to focus, but Steve didn’t let go. Their palms grew hot between them, a burning sun for James to orbit. Steve touched his hair with his other hand.

Many hours passed. Steve pulled him into the kitchen to hand James a bucket of something called ‘hummus’ and retrieved a packet of crackers from the cupboard. They returned to the couch and Steve told him to eat, the bucket pinned between their hips, their hands still clasped together.

The sun went down. They had spent the day mostly in silence, holding hands. Once Steve had let go to use the bathroom, tearing something out of James as he did. But then he came back. Took James’ hand. Said ‘sorry’. James’ vision went blurry. Someone bought them pizza and they ate it with their free hands. The cheese stretched into a string. The something’s leaves turned towards the light.

“You look sleepy already,” Steve commented, amused. “You want to go to bed?” James hadn’t been thinking about bed a lot. But he was sleepy. He nodded.

Steve led him to his bedroom and James lay down, still holding his hand. Steve sat on the floor and didn't let go. He was smiling. James wasn’t sure he had ever stopped.

Steve had said he would stop if James told him to. James hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Steve’s hand felt so good. He was supposed to do things that felt good. He was supposed to do things he wanted. The thing in his chest shivered.

“Stop.”

Steve let go. “Of course, James.” The thing in his chest bloomed, but it hurt as much as having it killed. James held still. “Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t know.”

Steve smiled. “Then I’ll stay until you fall asleep, if that’s okay?”

“Yes.” James closed his eyes. The air was warm but it tickled coldly across his empty palm. His hand felt heavy, important. It tingled. James could hear Steve breathing. If he really concentrated, he could feel it on his fingertips. It was almost like holding hands.

James fell asleep.

 

***

 

 _Bucky’s vision faded in and out but he wasn’t confused, he_ wished _he was confused, he knew exactly where he was. His legs and arm were on fire from the warm air, he was burning to death, couldn’t they see that? There were straps holding him down and someone was touching his arm, the only part of him that wasn’t aflame. It was so much worse than that. Blood and sweat poured off him as he thrashed impotently. Even his voice was crippled, barely a whisper after hours and hours of screams. He wished to God it was louder, anything to cover the sound of the saw._

“Bucky! James! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare, you’re safe, it’s okay, you’re fine, we’re in Avengers Tower, remember? You’re here with me, and you’re safe.”

James gasped, trying to get some air in his screaming lungs. His clothing and sheets were drenched with cold sweat, his body shaking so hard he could hardly sit up. His chattering teeth were loud in the quiet bedroom, filling his skull, a percussive accompaniment to Steve’s soothing litany.

He was kneeling beside James’ bed in the same spot he’d been only hours earlier, watching him worriedly, one hand hovering between them like he wanted to touch.

“Are you okay? God, is there anything I can do, James?” James choked back a sob, poorly. At some point he’d wrapped his arms around himself to hold his rattling bones together. The hand twitched. “Can I touch you?” James made an animal sound, the something growing up into his throat to choke him. Steve’s hand touched his shoulder and James dropped his head in supplication, his breaths wet and shuddering. The hand paused, and then lifted away. The something turned to ice.

And then Steve was crawling onto the bed behind James, tumbling him back against his chest, both arms coming strongly around him, holding him together. He was warm, so warm, and firm and solid and real. James turned his head to bury it in Steve’s throat, hot tears pooling in the divots of his collarbones.

“Shhh, I got you, James, I’m here. I’m _here._ I’ll never let you go again.” Steve’s words were hot in James’ hair. James was clutching at his arms hard enough to bruise, but Steve didn’t move. Something in James thought that Steve couldn’t be moved.

It took a long time for him to calm down, but Steve held him as he put himself back together.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Steve asked at length, one hand stroking through James’ hair over and over, inexorably drawing the terror from his muscles.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, let’s try this.” Steve pulled James down until they were lying together on their sides, Steve spooned up behind him under the covers. He had one arm around James’ middle, and in a decision that felt like jumping off a cliff James took his hand in his. Steve squeezed it and rubbed his nose in James’ hair.

James didn’t want to dream again. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Steve pressed against him. What if he forgot? But he could feel Steve’s even breath against his back, and everything was so warm, and so soft, and before he knew it he was falling again. Falling asleep.

Maybe Steve would catch him.

 

* * *

 

**TONY**

 

At some point, Tony finished the arm. He wasn’t sure how many days it had been, but time was a construct, anyway. It was really something, if he did say so himself. Maybe he should get into the robosthetics business. It did seem like rather the opposite of weapons manufacturing.

“JARVIS? What time is it? Can I go bother Cap and his boyfriend yet?”

“It is 10:00am, sir,” JARVIS replied. “Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are in the cafe downstairs if you would like to join them.”

“I think I would. Text Strange, would you?”

“Already done, sir, though I might remind you that the Sergeant may choose not to have the surgery.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll pay everyone either way.” Tony was already leaving. A look at the mirrors in the elevator told him the edges of his goatee had grown indistinct with stubble, and he was wearing his shirt inside out. He chose not to let it bother him.

“Converted Cap to real coffee, have you Barnes? I’ve only been trying for two years,” he waffled as he approached them. They were sitting in front of an impressive array of pastries, Barnes looking blank but relaxed and Steve fucking glowing like a pregnant honeymooner.

“‘Fraid not, Tony,” he said mildly, breaking off a piece of his cookie. “Did you need something?”

“Your Soviet buddy’s informed consent would do it,” he said, snagging an eclair from the pile.

Steve’s gaze sharpened like the protective momma bear he was. “For what?”

“New arm. Faster, better, harder, stronger. And lighter and more sensitive and less painful, but those don’t sound quiet as impressive.”

“Less painful?” Steve’s eyes turned worried as he turned them on Barnes. “Your arm hurts you?”

“Pain levels standard,” he reported. Tony bit into his pastry.

“Oh. Well—what do you think? Would you like to let Tony anaesthetise you and give you a better arm?”

Barnes froze.

“You’d be asleep the whole time, and the only people in the room would be ones Steve has thoroughly vetted and threatened into treating you like a kitten, if I’m reading him right. You’d only have to do it once—damn thing’ll outlast all of us.” Tony wasn’t good at feelings. He had robots for that.

“Could you give us some time to think about it, Tony?” Steve asked quietly without looking away from Barnes.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, ruin my day why don’t you—”

“It wouldn’t happen today regardless,” Steve pointed out wryly. “Besides, you look like you could use a shower and a nap.”

“Yes Mom. Let JARVIS know when he makes up his mind, alright? He has all the details about everything, whatever, you know how this works.”

Steve’s mouth quirked. “Sure.” Then his smile grew a little more genuine. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony waved it away, stealing a bear claw before leaving. He climbed into the elevator.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes sir?”

“Were they holding hands under the table?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Huh.”

 

***

 

It was almost a week before Tony heard back from the old folks home.

“Excuse me sir, but Captain Rogers has a list of requirements he wishes you to review before Sergeant Barnes makes a decision.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“That the Sergeant is put under anesthesia in their apartment, and brought to the operating room while unconcious.”

“Sure.”

“That he is exposed to the minimum possible amount of medical paraphernalia before and after the procedure, including lab coats and scrubs.”

“Duh.”

“That the Sergeant can withdraw his consent at any time, and the proceedings will stop.”

“They aren’t even trying.”

“And that he gets to keep his old arm after the procedure.”

“Wait, what? But I—have already made something ten times better. Yeah, okay, fine, I _guess_.”

“Thank you sir. I shall inform the Captain.”

It really didn’t take long at all, after that. Barely two days later Tony stood in their apartment next to an anaesthesiologist who had worked with Steve before. She was dressed in civvies—not even a suit, like Tony, a Star Wars tshirt and jeans—and someone had put Pokemon sheets on the gurney. Barnes was dressed in pink scrub pants and the bed was in the fully upright position.

He looked as calm as Tony could have hoped, which meant his was practically hyperventilating and gripping Steve’s hand in his right so hard his fingers were turning blue.

The doc had been fully briefed, and was weilding a hypodermic in clean but gloveless hands.

“I’m ready when you are, Sergeant Barnes, but I can wait as long as you need,” she was saying steadily. “Or we can stop. It’s up to you.”

“Do you want her to stick me first? We have plenty of doses, since I get myself hurt so often. I could take a little nap to prove it’s safe.”

Barnes shook his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. At Steve’s instruction he slowed his breathing to something resembling normal. Tony shifted his weight uncomfortably, but Steve and the doctor seemed content to wait him out.

With nothing better to do than watch the clock Tony knew it was exactly eight minutes later that Barnes said “Yes.”

Steve pulled his arm out straight without letting go of his hand, leaving enough room for the doctor to move in beside him. Every muscle in Barnes’ body was taught as she palpated for a vein, Steve keeping up a steady stream of comfort and praise.

“Wait,” Barnes cracked at one point, the doctor immediately lifting her hands away from his skin. He opened his eyes to look at her, and she raised her brows in question. He flicked a look at Steve, who smiled. “Okay.” This time he watched.

Five minutes later Barnes was totally unconscious, a nurse appearing from somewhere to wheel him into the elevator with Steve following behind. Tony and Dr. Whatsername quickly went to go scrub up, walking into the O.R. just as the nurses finished hooking Barnes up to… everything he needed to be hooked up to. Strange was there, not bothering to acknowledge them as they arrived. Tony glanced at the two-way mirror and waved, knowing beyond a doubt that Steve was back there.

The surgery was long and arduous, for Tony at least, but there weren’t any complications. His bones were reinforced with lighter, more effective plates, the nerve connections in his spine hooked up to his new synthetic neurons, and his new arm attached with a satisfying clunk.

Tony didn’t stick around for the post-op, but after a shower and a coffee he wandered down to the recovery room, which was actually a conservatory made mostly of glass and filled with plants. Barnes was still hooked up to a few machines, but there was no annoying beeping, just the 1930’s Greatest Hits playing through JARVIS’ speakers. Someone had thrown a blanket over the heart monitor, and covered his IV bag in cat stickers.

Steve was slumped in an ugly green armchair by his bedside, looking tired and proud.

“You haven’t given him true love’s kiss yet, Prince Charming?” Tony asked.

“That’s Captain Charming to you,” Steve said without looking away from Barnes’ face.

“Be hard to prick an adamantium finger, I guess,” Tony agreed, slumping into a purple leather swivel chair on Barnes’ other side.

It must have been _Tony_ who was Prince Charming, because no sooner had he sat down then Barnes started to stir.

“All right there, James?” Steve said, leaning forward over him like the helicopter parent he was.

“St’ve?” Barnes muttered, eyebrows scrunching up against the light.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re waking up from the anaesthesia now, so you’re probably feeling pretty groggy, but you’re safe.”

Barnes opened his eyes and blinked around him fuzzily, looking the least stressed Tony had ever seen him. He didn’t know what was in those supersoldier sedatives but he was beginning to want some.

Tony watched as Barnes seemed to suddenly remember why he was there, glancing down at his arm.

The design was similar enough, with the shiny silver plates. Most of the differences were internal, as there were only so many configurations that would make it functional in the real world—and maybe a tiny part of Tony wanted to give the poor soldier something familiar.

“I can paint it any colour you want, you know. Put that vaguely Soviet star back on if you liked it, whatever you want,” Tony rambled blithely in the hopes of avoiding sentiment. “What do you think? Red white and blue? Neon orange? The rainbow?” Barnes didn’t seem to register he was being spoken to, too busy flexing the arm and fingers.

He rubbed it on the blankets with a look of wonder in his eyes, his flesh hand coming around to hesitantly brush over the metal. He gasped when it made contact, actually gasped, looking completely overcome.

“You can feel that, James?” Steve asked softly, his eyes worryingly mushy as he watched his friend.

James nodded. “The arm is fully functional?” He asked Tony—or his coffee cup, anyway.

“ _Your_ arm is ready to go, though I think you’re supposed to rest it for a few days while all the surgery scars heal. Captain Mom over here knows the schedule, I’m sure.”

“I do,” Steve confirmed, though he was obviously only half listening. He reached over slowly, telegraphing his movements, and laced his fingered with Barnes’ new ones. Barnes looked like he was going to cry.

Tony watched Barnes visibly gather his courage, his shoulders tightening and Steve’s fingers going bloodless from the pressure of his grip. He turned toward Tony slowly, like he had to fight himself for every degree, and when he raised his head Tony could see the effort it took for him to make eye contact. He was shaking.

Tony had seen _inside_ the guy not an hour earlier, had reviewed hundreds of hours of footage of him, and yet he got the feeling this was the first time he’d ever seen him. His eyes brimmed with emotions Tony was not equipped to understand, but they held him arrested anyway.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and dropped his eyes again, and Tony released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“You’re… you’re welcome, sport,” Tony responded at last, swallowing back the urge to make a joke and hide in his coffee cup. He was not above running away, however, especially not with Steve looking at him like he was a goddamn Catholic saint. He couldn’t sit through a painfully earnest thank you speech from him right now, he was too fucking sober. “Glad to help. Well, sorry to refit and split but I promised Pepper I’d meet her about something, somewhere else, right now. Bye!”

 

* * *

 

**JAMES**

 

“Let’s go to the beach,” Steve said one day out of the blue. James had been sitting on the couch watching a documentary about sloths while Steve tried to read a book, an almost daily occurrence in this house.

“The… beach,” James asked tentatively.

“Yeah. You know, sand, sun, water. We’ve got to get out of this house, James.”

“Okay,” James agreed without meaning it. The outside world was full of variables and death.

Steve must have senses his discomfort. His face softened. “Hey, James. It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll watch out for you.”

James let out a careful breath. It was shameful how comforting those words were. Not for the first time he wondered how Steve always seemed to know what to say.

Steve had several pairs of polyester shorts, and they fit James well enough. He pulled them on with a t-shirt and activated the cloaking in his arm. Steve was waiting by the entrance without a shirt.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” James confirmed, deliberately misinterpreting the question.  

They took one of Tony’s cars. James stared out the window. The world looked completely different, as if centuries had passed since he defected, rather than weeks.

The sun was hot against his skin as he exited the vehicle, and Steve passed him a pair of dark sunglasses similar to his own.

“Let’s go,” he said, and James’ body instantly obeyed. It wasn’t really an order, he reminded himself, feeling an unfamiliar flicker of annoyance.

The wandered down onto the beach, Steve pausing to remove his shoes. James followed his lead and blinked down in surprise at the pleasant texture of the warm sand. There were a lot of people, dressed in brightly coloured swimsuits, all smiling. James relaxed—the chances of one of the revellers being HYDRA was extremely small, and even then there was no way to hide a weapon capable of stopping him in any of those outfits.

Steve was making his way down to the water, but James was distracted by the theme park behind. After a brief wrestle with himself he managed to call out to Steve.

He turned back to him with a smile and James’ ribs filled with helium.

“What’s up?”

“Have…” James swallowed and watched Steve’s mouth open to reassure him. Determined to get it out on his own he rushed to finish; “have we been here before?” He gestured at the ferris wheel.

James was thankful for his sunglasses as Steve’s smile increased one thousand watts.

“Yeah! We grew up around here, and we went to Luna Park sometimes!” His blinding Bucky-Remembered-Something smile grew teasing. “You liked to bring dates here.”

James recalled a flash of laughter, the park lit up at night, perfume and lipstick. He nodded slowly and Steve continued to beam at him proudly.

“Come on into the water,” he said.

James followed him in up to his knees and closed his eyes. It swirled around his feet, blessedly cool, coming and gowing like slow breaths. The sun beat down above and James sighed, wishing he could fall asleep standing up like a horse. He cleared his throat and shared this thought with Steve, calculating based on previous patterns that it might make him laugh. It did. James felt his lip corners turn up quite without his input. Steve must have noticed because his laughter quieted and he smiled back, as soft as James’ bedsheets. James felt like the sun was falling on his insides, too. He turned back to the ocean, spreading out to the horizon, and felt for the first time that he could truly comprehend how big it was.

Steve insisted on going for a swim and James elected to watch from the shore. It looked fun, gliding through the water, ducking under into a silent world like in the bath, but there were too many people for him to relax. He felt safer watching over Steve while he couldn’t.

By the time he was finished James had grown quite hot, and Steve bought him an icecream cone. He wouldn’t let James get it in a cup with a spoon, like was sensible, insisting that it tasted better when you licked it. This was certifiably impossible, but James acquiesced, discovering the sweet cream on his tongue in contrast with the warm air was glorious.

“Thanks for coming out with me, James.” Steve glowed at him. “I had a really good time.”

 _You liked to bring dates here_ memory-Steve teased, and James brushed the non-sequitur away. “Yes.” He hesitated. “It was a successful mission,” he tried another joke, and Steve laughed again. Successful, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

**STEVE**

 

After the success of their beach trip Steve had taken James out almost every day. His innocent joy in the simplest pleasures of life was making Steve feel made anew, and he wished he could express that to James properly. Whenever he tried he just got the bland agreement of the Soldier.

“Can… can we go to the beach again,” James asked awkwardly one morning. He was still learning to ask for things without hesitating, but the distance he had come in just a short few weeks brought proud tears to Steve eyes whenever he thought about it.

“Yeah, sure!” He replied, surprised. “Was it fun for you? I thought maybe it would be boring since you don’t like to swim.”

“I like to swim,” Bucky corrected. “Too many people at the beach.”

Steve understood immediately. After ops and during the war he had often found it hard to shake the need to maintain awareness of his surroundings at all times. He could only imagine how it must have been for James. “...does it have to be the same beach?” James tilted his head slightly, an indication he was interested. Steve was becoming adept at reading his tiny expressions. “Get your jacket on, we’re taking my bike.”

***

The ride was just what Steve had needed. The brisk wind whipped away the heat of the day, ruffling his hair. James was holding on to the back of the bike but his knees brushed Steve’s hips and his weight affected the turns, and Steve loved the reminder he was there. They rode for close to two hours, the city giving way to countryside. Steve turned down a series of smaller and smaller roads, eventually bringing the bike to a stop somewhere in the woods.

James looked around as he swung off the bike, face as blank as ever. “Which way to the beach?” He asked, and it was pure Bucky.

“Just trust me, alright?” Steve rolled his eyes, failing to cover his amusement. He led the way straight into the trees, trusting his sense of direction just like he had in the forests of Austria. James followed without complaint, somehow moving silently even over the forest detritus. The hike was fairly short, but that made the reveal no less impactful as they created a rise and came across a small waterfall-fed pool. They had been able to hear the river for miles, but Steve knew nothing could prepare one for the tiny pocket of paradise he’d stumbled across the year previous. The sun broke through the canopy to glint off the water, the rock face perfectly climbable where it had been exposed by the water thousands of years ago. It was so idyllic it almost felt like another world.

“It ain’t exactly a beach,” Steve said, glancing down at the grassy shore beneath their feet, “but, I thought you could swim here.”

James took in the scene with slightly widened eyes, before turning them on Steve. “Yes,” he agreed, but it was soft. Steve grinned at him, overjoyed that his surprise had made James happy.

“You’re welcome,” he replied happily.

They stripped off their clothes and James immediately waded in until he could sink under, swimming the length of the pool in lazy strokes. Steve made his way to the waterfall and climbed it without difficulty, calling out a warning before diving into the cool water in a shallow line. Feeling no urge to wear himself out with laps Steve floated on his back as James swum around him, diving under for minutes at a time to explore the world beneath. Once Steve felt him pass beneath him and kicked out, catching him on the belly. James grabbed his ankle in retaliation, yanking him just enough for his head to go under. The surprising playfulness made Steve laugh joyfully, inhaling half the river in the process.

At one point Steve swam to the base of the fall, treading underneath it and tilting his face away from the downpour, letting the roar block out the world. After a time he backed out, shaking the hair out of his face to find James standing in a shallower section holding a wiggling silver fish in his hand.

“James!” Steve cried in surprise. James just looked at him. “ _Why?_ ”

James frowned. He couldn’t seem to find an answer. In the end he just threw the fish at Steve and dove back under.

After that it became a competition. Steve had never caught a fish bare-handed before, but it turned out to be easier than catching a submarine. He proudly displayed several catches, all smaller than James’, but thought he had won for sure as he came up with a bass the length of his forearm. He broke the surface, carefully avoiding being nipped without damaging the poor thing, but when he shook the water out of his eyes he was presented with the sight of a stoic James holding the biggest catfish he had ever seen. A lesser man would have needed two arms to hold the thing. Steve graciously accepted defeat, the sparkle of humour in James’ eyes as his released the monster feeling rather like winning anyway.

Eventually the pair of them crawled up on the bank, stretching out on the grass in a patch of sunlight to dry. Steve closed his eyes, listening the the sweep of Bucky’s fingers through the blades.

“Thank you,” James said quietly. Steve looked over, finding James already watching him.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He reached out and tangled their fingers together, closing his eyes again with a smile.

 

* * *

 

**TONY**

 

Team movie night was a bullshit concept in his opinion, but Pepper insisted he needed the human interaction. “ _Outside_ of me, Tony. And no, JARVIS does not count.”

They were all laid out on various surfaces with bowls of cooling popcorn scattered around, educating Steve on James Bond.

“He’s just the poor man’s _me_ ,” Tony said for the thousandth time. “Except I’m my own Q and get to take the credit when I kill bad guys.”

“This difference is you only _think_ you’re charming.”

Tony pointed his finger at Natasha. “I resent that.”

“The fuck kind of name is ‘SMERSH’,” Sam complained. “That is not at all badass. Sounds like an onomatopoeia for cold mashed potatoes. Come on, Flemming.”

“Sam, SMERSH was a real thing,” Steve laughed.

Sam clumsily spun around to stare at him. “Man, the Soviets were really on it with the ‘Red Army’, that sounds bad as hell, but SMERSH is about as fear-inspiring as a pie to the face.”

“It stands for Смерть шпионам _,_ ” Barnes murmured. “‘Death to Spies’.”

“You were saying, Sam?” Tony quipped.

“Okay, yeah, that is terrifying.”

“Thank you,” Barnes replied. Tony narrowed his eyes. He knew sarcasm when he heard it. Steve’s huff of amusement confirmed it. Lazarus had jokes.

The grandparents were cuddled together on the couch, watching the movie like an old married couple. They were honestly worse than he and Pepper and he wasn’t even sure they were together. Whatever was going on, though, it was making Steve infinitely less obnoxious. It turned out when the guy was happy he actually had a personality. Tony would have lost severals bets on that score if the other Avengers knew the meaning of ‘fun’.

“You ever work for them?” Natasha asked curiously.

Barnes shook his head. “СМЕРШ was dissolved in ‘46. I wasn’t operational at that time.”

“Are we talking about this? We’re talking about it? Because I really need to know if you killed JFK, man, I _need_ to know it,” Sam burst in, looking guilty and ravenous at the same time. Barnes shrugged placidly.

“I was supposed to. Oswald beat me to it.”

“Sorry, man,” Clint comisserated. Barnes accepted this with a gracious nod.

“Wha—’sorry’? _‘Sorry’?_ ” Tony screeched. “‘Ah jeez, ain’t it just the pits when another gunman assassinates the president before you’? Is that it?”

Natasha nodded seriously, patting Barnes on the arm. “Exactly.”

“We’ve all been there,” Clint said sagely, and they both shared a mournful look with Barnes.

Tony was surrounded by crazy people.

He turned beseechingly to Steve to find him struggling to cover his laughter as he gazed at the robot.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he offered, eyes dancing.

Barnes smiled at him. “Hey, thanks.”

Tony made a sound like a tea kettle and pointed at Barnes. Clint signed something that made Natasha’s smile sharpen with evil humour and then the strangest thing happened.

Barnes laughed.

 

* * *

 

**JAMES**

 

James snapped his eyes open and sat up in bed. His cheeks were wet. The house was silent, the world still pitch dark outside his window. On silent feet he rolled out of bed and ghosted across the hall, letting himself into Steve’s bedroom. Steve had expressed on multiple occasions that he was welcome to do so, but so far he never had.

Standing carefully back so as not to startle Steve James called his name softly.

“B’cky?” Steve mumbled, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. James waited tensely, and after a moment Steve woke up for real and blinked at him worriedly. “James? Is everything okay?”

“What were my sisters names?” James asked him urgently.

Steve’s heart broke for him. James watched it happen. “The oldest was Margaret, and then there was Alice. Becca was a few years younger than us, and Minnie was the baby. Do you need me to describe them?”

James shook his head, more tears trickling down his face silently. The names slotted neatly into his memory of his family at dinner, their faces so clear he could almost hear the laughter and their names nowhere to be found.

Steve sat quietly with him as he assimilated this new piece of himself.

“Hey,” he said gently after years had passed. “Wait here.”

Steve left James grieving on the bed to clang around in the kitchen for a few minutes. James didn’t mind. Time seemed to have lost what little meaning it had held for him in this darkened room.

“Okay, come on,” Steve said, coming back in with a bag and holding out his hand. James took it and allowed himself to be steered into the elevator.

Steve didn’t let go of his hand. His was large and warm and rough and James knew it so well.

The numbers on the elevator went up and up until they were no longer numbers. At ‘R’ they stepped out into the night air, their breaths fogging. The concrete of the roof was icy against James’ bare feet but it might as well have been a Caribbean beach for all he felt it with Steve beside him.

Steve didn’t speak, tugging him to the Eastern edge of the tower. The whole world was stretched out beneath James’ feet, the stars below warmer than the ones above. Steve pulled a blanket out of the bag and sat down on the edge, his feet dangling into space. He tugged James down beside him and wrapped the soft fabric around their shoulders, cuddling in close. There was a thermos and cups in the bag as well, and when Steve poured the rich scent of cocoa filled the space between them.

“I hope you’re warm enough. It’s not long until sunrise,” Steve said, indicating the slight lightening of the sky in front of them. James couldn’t find his voice but Steve didn’t seem to need an answer, turning silently to the horizon and leaning his head against James’ shoulder.

They sat together like that for many long minutes, the heat of their bodies pushing out the night. It took seventy years for the full resplendent colour to flood the sky, climbing up the mirrored tower and painting Steve’s skin in pink and gold. At some point they had started holding hands again, and when Steve noticed his stare his fingers tightened. He turned away from the splendor of the sunrise towards James, and he smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. Captured, James swayed forwards. Steve caught him, he always caught him, pressing in. Their lips were so close James could feel Steve’s heat. The soft dawn light fell against his face as Bucky closed his eyes and leapt.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Guhbluh. It is done. I'm so sleepy, the last few scenes are probably i n c h o r e n t. Ah well. Thank you so much for reading!! Tell me what you liked about it so I can salivate over your comments when I wake up! Comments are an essential part of any writer's breakfast. Kud-ohs, the healthy serial for authors!
> 
> Night!!!! :)


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